The Fine Line
by me malum
Summary: -Between love and hate. A new fighter makes an impression on veteran Marth, however, impressing hasn't got much to do with it. AU- Subspace Emissary never happened. Warning- slash of the Mike kind.
1. First Impression

Hi. This is the only other genre I've seriously written in, thus far. Originally, this was a request from a friend, a Marth/Ike oneshot. It grew on me- literally- into a 20ish page monstrosity that is to date, my longest piece, I think (I far preferred writing this to my history coursework). Figured I might as well post it, and get the rest of the world's opinion on it as well.

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the game- anything you recognise has escaped from the Wii, and must be found and returned presently. Via subspace.

Italics are thoughts. From whichever character is the subject of the sentence. Just in case it got a bit confusing.

Onwards for ficcage. Enjoy- I did!

Chapter 1: First Impression

Marth prepared himself for another battle. Already a veteran, he found it strange to be facing someone unknown to most of the tournament fighters. _But then_, he mused,_ there have been a few new opponents this year_.

"This is your five minute warning, Prince Marth!"

He began to stretch, working through his exercises with his falchion. He'd seen this Ike at the welcoming banquet, but truthfully, he hadn't taken much notice. He was too busy bemoaning the withdrawal of his best friend, Roy, from the competition.

Ike was supposedly another swordsman, but one who relied on physical strength as opposed to technique. As long as Marth could dodge the worst of his attacks, he should be fine.

"Time, Prince Marth!"

He followed the attendant from his room to the stadium. The light blinded him for a second, before his eyes adjusted. Across the stage, Marth saw his opponent standing with his back to him; spiky blue hair was all he could see above the collar. Oh, and the massive golden sword. He couldn't miss the shiny golden sword.

Then the man turned, and Marth was subjected to a similar scrutiny. He saw Ike size him up, and knew the exact moment he was dismissed as a weakling who could barely hold his weapon. It wasn't his fault he had a delicate bone structure! It didn't mean he was any less strong than... well Link for example. The guy wore a green dress and got more respect as a fighter than Marth did! It was time for that to change: Marth was determined this year. He would go far.

But first, he would defeat the newbie in front of him.

-*-

Ike heard the uproar behind him and guessed that his opponent had entered the arena. His first fight was beginning, and he had a point to prove. Nobody here really liked him, they considered him a usurper of Roy's rightful place, never mind that his cousin had left before he had signed up. What made it really ironic was that it had been Roy's prompting and recommendations that had finally pushed him into doing so.

Ike shook his head. He couldn't afford to get hung up on the past at this moment.

He turned and saw his opponent for the first time. Smaller than him both in height and across the shoulders. A sword that looked as delicate as its wielder. Ike sighed, would he have to hold back from using his full strength? He supposed it was early in the tournament. The weaker fighters had yet to be eliminated.

"Fighters, ready?" The announcer's voice boomed across the stadium. Ike saluted, and saw Marth do the same, raising his falchion to head height.

Both fighters were, for the first time, in complete agreement.

_Game on_.

-*-

Marth figured he could use his deceptive looks to his advantage, and waited for Ike to make the first attack. The taller man charged, swinging his sword down in a move that could take Marth's head off if he didn't counter, or dodge.

Marth ducked, and stuck his foot out as Ike's momentum carried him forwards. Sensing the trap, the other swordsman dove and rolled over the limb, standing again not two metres from Marth's position. Ike looked slightly unsettled; Marth fought the unholy urge to smirk, despite his counterattack failing.

He thought the better of repeating such a move, especially at closer quarters, and the two swordsmen circled, searching for flaws in the other's technique. Marth was obviously the superior in skill, and gave no indication of what he would do next. He noticed Ike's eyes focusing on various points of his body, but where would he strike?

Ike jumped forwards and stabbed at Marth's midsection. The swiftness of the move was a surprise, and Marth failed to counter properly. He hissed as his side was sliced open, and glared at the offending weapon, now stained with blood. His blood.

_To hell with this_.

Marth moved into a second block, more successful than his first. As Ike stumbled back, he reversed his grip and stabbed at Ike's torso. He missed, but was too focused on his advance to really care. Slashing again, he finally got to draw blood of his own. Ike fell backwards, clutching at his thigh from where blood was staining his trousers. To his credit, he kept a hold of his sword. He managed to fend off Marth's next attack as he regained his feet, favouring his wounded leg.

Marth continued to push forwards, noting that with every step he took, Ike retreated one step further to the edge of the stage. Surely he realised?

Whether Ike had noticed or not, Marth decided to use this to his advantage, and he pressed Ike back, forcing his opponent to limit his movements and defend without making his own attacks.

Ike only realised he was going over the edge when his heel slipped. His eyes widened as realised the danger his position put him in. His muffled curse was heard only by Marth.

At that crucial moment, Marth… hesitated. _He sounds like Roy. Cursing and all_.

Ike could barely believe his fortune, and struck out, with no grace or finesse, but with the strength that he was so renowned for. This time, Marth was stumbling back, berating himself for letting the larger man get the upper hand again. Ike regained his footing on surer ground and the fight continued.

Through it all, the spectators watched, entranced by the matching movements of a pair that had never fought previously, but seemed to know exactly what to do and how to throw each other off-guard.

-*-

Some time into the fight, Marth was beginning to tire. He resorted to dodging more and blocking less, letting Ike make all of the movements, waiting for the perfect opening to take. He had to end it soon or Ike would win by brute force and stamina.

Ike noticed his opponent's movements becoming more conservative, expending less energy, and correctly guessed why. Inwardly, he smirked: his first fight and he had almost won it! True, his opponent had been a tougher fight than expected, had even had him on the line at one point, but luck, or something like it, had prevailed yet again. Leave the skills to the rich and the nobles. Ike would rather be lucky than good any day.

Marth hated playing the weak card, but it was the only way he could see out of this. He sighed, loud enough for Ike to hear and interpret as a sound of muted pain. He saw Ike's last strike coming, and blocked it weakly, allowing his arm to tremble slightly and the block to falter. As Ike's reach became overextended, he dipped his sword down and locked hilt to hilt with Ike, before wrenching his arm back.

As planned, the other sword came back with him as Ike was forced to let go, or risk breaking his arm. To make his victory undeniable, Marth raised his falchion to Ike's neck. He looked shocked. _When… how… had that happened?_

"I think you'll find", Marth bit out, cold and aloof, "that skill does sometimes have something to do with swordplay." He laughed lowly. "Fancy that."

As the announcer confirmed Marth's win, he lowered his sword and strode from the arena, all smiles and graces for the crowd. Ike was left where he stood, stunned. After a few seconds, he mentally shook himself, reclaimed his sword and left via the back gate.

Okay, so it wasn't a necessary victory; the tournament was still in the group stages. He could defeat only the majority of his opponents and go through to the knockout battles. Though it would have been nice to win his first match.

Ike sighed, and thought _b__ut now I have another goal. Find out who that fighter was, and why he intrigues me so_.

-*-

Marth looked at the points tables and saw with satisfaction that he was fourth overall. So long as he kept winning, he would have no problems getting through the group stages. He felt, rather than saw, someone come up behind him.

"Interesting fight today, Marth," she said. Inwardly, Marth was groaning. Talking to Zelda was a pain; you never knew which part of her would reply.

"It was enjoyable, yes," he agreed, taking the safe route. "Although perhaps not entirely fair, given how much my opponent was forced to rely on brute force."

Zelda laughed at something only she understood. "He has a name, Ike, I believe it is. Remember that you were a newbie once." How did she know exactly what words he had thought of the other swordsman? "Farewell Marth," she said, turning and walking away. "Oh, and a friendly warning: someone is asking questions about you. They evidently didn't know me for Shiek."

_Someone asking questions? Who?_ Not knowing her special move- that had to be a mistake. _Why is it that Zelda always creates more problems than she solves_?

-*-

Ike was feeling frustrated: he had no one to talk to here, had just been informed he was seventeenth in the overall rankings and had had little to no luck finding out about Marth. Sorry, Prince Marth. _Should've guessed he was high in society from his comment during the battle._ Muttering under his breath, Ike left his quarters in search of an empty training room.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice anyone walking down the corridor towards him.

"Eek!"

Ike glanced down when something hit his chest and rebounded off again. He saw some pink thing in a bundle on the floor, and looked around for whoever had spoken. Then he saw the pink mass moving, and rectified his mistake.

"Sorry, Miss. I didn't see you." He was enough of a gentleman to know when he was in the wrong.

"Well, that much was obvious." She said. The woman offered her hand imperiously, and Ike belatedly realised she expected him to help her up. He took the hand nervously, unused to the traditions and airs of the class. "And it's Princess. Peach. May I know the name of my attacker?"

"I didn't mean to knock you over!" Ike whined. Loudly. "I apologised, and helped you up! That doesn't make it an attack." He ran her question through his mind again, feeling sheepish. "Oh, sorry. I'm Ike."

"No title?" Peach dropped her act; he was too new here to know she was teasing.

"None by birth, Princess." Ike just wanted to leave now. Preferably before she said something he'd really dislike. He was too blunt to dance with words like most of the fighters here appeared to. Or was it that most of the fighters here seemed to have some sort of position, which he lacked?

"Just Peach, please. Formality is a waste of time between friends. I'll see you around, Ike. If you need help with anything, just ask." She continued walking down the corridor.

Friends? _I knock her over, yell at her, and that makes us friends?_ Ike decided that although he was certainly lacking in status compared to these people, he had one thing they didn't, and that was a dose of sanity. He shook his head and continued to the training rooms.

With a curse, Ike read that all but one of the rooms were full, and even that one was already occupied. Well, maybe he'd be able to spar instead of just beating the hell of out a dummy?

He opened the door and stepped inside, realising too late that he probably should have checked more closely as to who was using the room. Because across the dojo, standing and glaring in all his noble glory, stood the person that had clouded his thoughts for the last few hours.

Ike couldn't resist. The other man was flushed from exertion, cheeks a bright (adorable) red. "Hard time, Princess?" he asked in greeting.

-*-


	2. A Kind of Justice

Take two. Shout out to ShabalbaIggy, Almond28, Kiyomi Kamida and CuriousDreamWeaver; feedback always makes me grin insanely. And feel very happy, so thanks.

Hope this stays uncliched and unpredictable.

And you, you know exactly who you are. You have an e-mail awaiting you, my friend.

And, onwards.

Chapter 2: A Kind of Justice

In a training room, Marth swung his falchion through his first sequence, imagining every enemy had blue spikes and a scarf to keep them out of his eyes. His mind was focused on one thing: _get this obsession out of my system, as soon as possible!_ The veteran fighters all knew about Zelda's trick. Therefore, the only ones who wouldn't know Shiek were the new fighters.

Marth had only had close contact with one new fighter. "Argh!" He yelled in annoyance, wishing he could get the mercenary out of his mind. His falchion stabbed sharply at the next 'opponent', shrieking through the air.

Marth drew his sequence to a close as he heard the door open. It had to be fate, he realised, with a feeling akin to dread in his stomach. _The world is out to get me…_ He gave the swordsman his best glare, hoping the merc. would take the hint and leave again.

No such luck. Marth sighed, prepared to ignore the man, when-

"Hard time, Princess?"

That got his attention. Glare completely forgotten, Marth stared at Ike, shocked beyond words.

"Just, you look pretty exhausted. I wondered if you're unused to all the physical labour with the way you prefer simply twirling that blade around."

The two men locked gazes, one scowling, the other smirking. Then, Marth had a wicked idea. He played to the man's expectations in the battle, right? And now? Turnabout could be _so_ much fun.

Ike was slightly thrown when Marth's face morphed from anger to a sweet smile with the speed of a switch clicking on.

"Oh, it's so kind of you to care!" the Prince gushed, sheathing his sword and clasping his hands to his chest. "I hope this means you weren't too upset with me because of earlier! I didn't mean to hurt your arm-" he broke off, giving Ike's body a once-over glance "-I hope it's alright! And your leg, they fixed that up, didn't they? I can't see any blood, but you never know with these doctors!"

"What..?" Ike trailed off, trying to get a word in. What happened to the icy bastard from earlier? Confusion didn't quite cover it.

"Oh, I suppose you want to practise some more? You must, after your defeat earlier!" Marth heard Ike growl, and laughed internally, knowing he'd never snap at someone acting so… girly. At any other time, Marth would be mortified, but it was all for a good cause.

"Here, I'll just let you have the room now! Bye, have a good session!" Marth waved to the merc., who didn't even twitch. He was frozen in shock. Marth slammed the door behind him, act over. He recalled Ike's look at the end, and that was all it took for him to dissolve into laughter.

Ike heard the laughter through the door, and blinked rapidly, wondering what was going on. Then, the pieces clicked. He ran back out into the corridor, in time to see a cloak fluttering around the corner.

"I'll get you back for that, Princess!" he yelled. "Just wait!"

He returned to the training room plotting and under the questioning, somewhat amused stares of Mario, Red and Pit.

-*-

Peach looked up, concerned. Marth was laughing hysterically, which never boded well. The Prince had a sneak streak a mile wide and then some. Especially since he termed it, Justice.

"Marth?" she asked warily.

"Give me five more minutes," he gasped. "Just long enough to record that in my memory forever." Peach nodded silently.

Five minutes later, the manic laughter subsided into shuddering gasps, then the occasional giggle. "I'm sorry," Marth said, "but that was too brilliant not to savour properly."

"But what did you do?" Peach asked, incredulous.

"Right. There's this mercenary from my world, different city though. We fought this morning, I won, but he dismissed me like everybody else does. For a weak girl who can't lift a stick let alone a sword. So, rather than convince him otherwise, I… played to his expectations!" Marth paused dramatically.

"I'll ask again. What did you do?" Thank the toadstool for her everlasting patience.

"He called me… something I'd rather not repeat, to be honest." Marth blushed even as he tried not to growl when he remembered the man's impudence. "Anyway, I decided, in return, to be nice to him. Scarily nice."

"That doesn't seem too bad?" Peach offered hesitantly.

There were rumours of much worse things happening, courtesy of an 'unknown' culprit. Who nobody 'ever' suspected.

Said culprit smirked. "I'm only just getting started, Princess. Ike won't know what hit him!"

Finally, something! "Ike?" Peach echoed. "Why Ike? He didn't seem too bad earlier, just a bit overwhelmed by being around so many people."

"Have you even met the man?" Marth countered. "He's a rude, crass, ignorant, idiotic excuse for a human being!"

"I think you mistakenly read him and then list those mistakes as perceived 'faults'." Peach replied.

"Excuse me?" It was Marth's turn to be incredulous.

"He can get deep in thought, even in a crowd, making him appear absent, ergo slightly idiotic. But honestly, how often have you caught him acting like… well, like Link? His 'ignorance' stems from his obviously being brought up in an entirely different class to most of us- probably nobody ever taught him the things you live and breathe. As for rude and crass… well, he was enough of a gentleman to me when I saw him." Peach conveniently left out that he had knocked her over first. "I think you have it out for him, and he acts accordingly."

"He's judgemental. He didn't give me a chance, even in his mind." And that was what was really bugging him. Ike had been taken in by the surface appearance. Marth fell silent, depressed that even fresh fighters, unexposed to the jokes of previous tournaments, would never respect his skills.

"He's human, Marth, like you pointed out. You need to give him a chance." Peach bit back a laugh. "Besides, it was a blow to his pride, being beaten by such a girly fighter. I'm sure he'll not make the same mistake again!"

She shrieked as Marth leapt at her, tickling madly. Mainc laughter was again heard from the living room, scaring those who walked past.

-*-

Marth's season, after a promising start, continued to go well. He beat every one of his opponents, except for Bowser, and that was due to foul play; he was sure the stage was only meant to change three times. The overgrown lizard must have bribed someone.

Ike found himself rising through the ranks as a respected fighter, as he scored his first, second, third, fourth and fifth win. He had risen through the ranks to ninth, and was slightly happier with that. He'd also been discretely observing the Altean Prince, and found out some interesting things, that explained a lot.

Marth had been close friends with his cousin, Roy. After writing to his cousin, and receiving the reply, _Say hi, good luck and health to Marth for me!_ he concluded it must have been a very strong friendship: Ike knew firsthand how much of a lousy correspondent his cousin was, unless the person was incredibly important to the redhead.

Marth had hesitated during their fight, and Ike had realised why. He and his cousin sounded very similar, despite rarely seeing each other and being brought up in a merc. camp and a palace respectively. He'd spoken for the first time in Marth's hearing, during the match. Momentary shock on the close friend's face. Mystery explained.

It also meant he had an excuse to talk to the Prince again. He'd been avoiding him since the episode in the training room. It had been a week now, and Ike was ready to strike back.

He couldn't wait for Marth to come in for training today.

-*-

Everything was set. Marth had three choices of sparring partner: Kirby, DK, or himself. Ike couldn't believe the Prince would choose either of the other two over him, seeing as he was Marth's best chance at improving his sword skills. Then he'd also 'misplaced' the notice that said it was him occupying this particular room, so the Prince wouldn't even know he was in there. The Prince would be forced to talk to him.

Ike paced the training room while he waited. It was the one day of the week where no matches were taking place, and he had planned to take full advantage. Feeling restless, he moved Ragnell from his shoulder and swung the sword in front of him, practising his slicing blows. He had moved onto interspersed kicks by the time the door finally opened.

"Poyo!"

Ike blinked. That wasn't Marth. "Have you seen the Princess?" he asked.

Kirby's face expressed regret. Ike guessed that meant no.

"Damn. Now I need to change the plan."

"Poyo?"

Wait a minute. Ike halted, and asked Kirby again, "Have you seen Marth?"

The puffball smiled and indicated the training room opposite with his arm. Ike nodded his thanks and left Kirby to it. Kirby blinked, shrugged, and began to practise his moves again. Now Ike had gone, it made no difference that he'd given up his room when the Prince politely requested that he do so.

Ike needed to be more subtle. Or, at least, work his plan so Marth would_ want_ to question (and in all likelihood, maim, torture and kill) him.

He reached his dorm and sat down on the bunk. _What to do?_ His glance fell on the desk, with Roy's letter still lying open, and the idea clicked.

-*-

Marth was in a good mood. He'd had a good training session, despite that… despite _his_ attempts to pull something. The fact that he'd thwarted the plan made his mood even better. He entered his room, where a piece of paper on the floor caught his eye. It looked rumpled, like it had been slid under the door.

It was addressed to him, but Marth didn't recognise the handwriting. He unfolded the sheet, curious as to who had tried to reach him.

_Hey Princess!_

_Just wanted to pass on the message (so don't kill the messenger, yeah?)_

_I think the gist was hi, good luck, and health._

_Well done in the tournament. Your appearance certainly is deceiving._

_(Do you really need me to sign this?)_

_(-Just in case I severely overestimated your intelligence)_

_Ike_

_P.S. the message was from Roy. Did I mention that earlier?_

Marth crumpled the note in his hand. He could see Ike's ploy. He just wanted another fight. Marth was a Prince; he couldn't rise to the mercenary's games. He wouldn't.

He uncrumpled the note and re-read it.

How did Ike know Roy well enough to keep in touch with him?

Marth shoved the note into a pocket and left to seek his answers, plot or no plot. His falchion was 'conveniently' still in his sheath, should Ike feel disinclined to give information. It was almost a shame that he insists on being an insufferable jerk, Marth thought off-hand. _But for that, I think I'd be laughing._

-*-

Ike heard the footsteps in the corridor. Five. Four. Three. Tw-

The door burst open.

"Damn it! I always underestimate your speed!" Ike blurted out, looking mortified with the strange look Marth was giving him. "Forgive me… Princess," he continued smoothly, trying to regain control of the situation. "Do you want something?" He warily eyed Marth's right hand, which was resting lightly on his sword handle. Why had he left Ragnell across the room again?

"How do you know the General?" Marth went straight to business.

"I think he's Roy to friends and family, Princess." Ike replied.

"Answer the question. Please," Marth added for good measure.

"Now which question would that be?"

Marth growled and began to draw his falchion. Ike backtracked quickly.

"Since you ask so prettily… Roy is my cousin, through my father's line." He sighed in relief when the falchion went back into the sheath.

"Was that really so difficult?" Marth asked condescendingly.

"Bye, Princess," Ike turned away, then realised that since it was his room, he had nowhere to go. He cursed.

"You sound just like him when you say that," the Prince murmured. His eyes widened as he realised he had spoken aloud.

Ike smiled for the first time in Marth's presence, bad mood forgotten. "I guessed that was what caused you to hesitate in battle." He realised this was the perfect opening to move the conversation along. "I was serious with what I wrote, by the way. Your appearance is deceiving; you're a great fighter."

Marth's face clearly showed his disbelief, until Ike continued, "Had to be, to defeat me." That sounded more normal, coming from the merc.'s mouth. "But I don't see why you get so worked up about it. If someone underestimates you, it's their problem. Literally, in this case, when you face them on the platform." Ike thought this was the most he'd ever said in his life. The emotional stuff was much more difficult than girls made it seem. "Basically… use all that you've got to your advantage, especially with that twirler of a sword."

Despite the slur on his weapon, Marth was heartened by the words. "Thank you." He spoke so quietly, he thought Ike might not have heard him. "Thank you." He repeated, louder. Maybe Peach was right… if he gave Ike a chance, maybe he'd turn out to be a nice guy.

Ike smiled again, all seriousness lost. "You're welcome, Princess."

Maybe not. Marth growled and stomped from the room.

-*-

The next day, the Smasher household looked on in disbelief as Ike turned up to breakfast with minutes to spare. "It wouldn't come out!" He moaned, grabbing a piece of toast before everything was taken away.

"Ike? What happened?" Peach asked. She had a vague idea, but…

"Someone switched the shower bottles! I didn't realise until I looked in the mirror, and it wouldn't come out!" Ike now sported a very bright, very green hairstyle. It clashed horribly with his armour.

When he arrived to fight that day, he got a raised eyebrow from Pit, his opponent. "I'll admit it's distracting, but that's not going to save you!" he chirped.

Ike sighed, and raised his sword to 'ready'. "Just get this over with," he muttered.

The duel went down in Smash Brother's history as the fastest the angel had ever been defeated.

-*-

Two days later (Ike's hair was still green), it was Marth who had only five minutes left to grab breakfast. Ike smirked. He knew what was going on.

Marth was having his own type of panic attack, dosed liberally with angry explosion. He waited until the last possible instant to appear for the first meal of the day, when the fewest number of people would be present. But he hadn't left yet. Bastard.

Never mind that Marth had started the whole thing.

He entered the dining hall with his head held high. He heard some sniggers, but ignored them. There were only two things he was focused on: breakfast, and Ike. After wolfing down some sort of pastry, he stepped behind the mercenary's chair. "Good morning, Ike," he began.

"Good morning, Prince Marth." Ike was equally cordial. Would an outsider notice the anger, and mirth in the speakers' tones?

"I thank you for your… direct advice in my wardrobe choices." Marth bit out. He was struggling to resist decking the swordsman (never mind that Ike probably wouldn't notice he'd been hit).

"You're welcome… Prince Marth. Or is it really princess now?"

Marth stepped back as Ike stood up. "I'll see you around, Princess," he said, before leaving.

_No._ Marth was not letting Ike have the last word in this. He kicked the chair Ike had just vacated to collide with the back of his legs. He laughed as the man fell, cursing the parents and ancestors of "high-strung, foul-playing, shampoo-switching princes" as he did so.

"Have a good day, Ike," Marth said sweetly, before leaving in his recently dyed armour. His cloak and tunic were now a fetching shade of pink.

-*-


	3. Indirect Interference

Shout out to: ShabalbaIggy, Kiyomi Kamida, Diagon the Dialga, Crimson-luma, Chrislma Janine Gahat. Your feedback is really nice, thank you! (and I'm grinning stupidly again).

Take three. Hope you're still having fun- I never realised that multi-chapters were that much worse than one-shots- I want to live up to the previous two!

Chapter 3: Indirect Interference

Master Hand sighed. It had been brought to his attention by a smasher, he couldn't ignore it now. The ongoing war between the Prince and the mercenary was upsetting the dynamic between his fighters. They weren't meant to fight off the stage, curse it!

He had waited, to see if they would resolve it in their own time. He had been patient enough. It had been three weeks, and the other smashers were becoming paranoid ever since Yoshi had been caught by a prank meant for Marth.

Actually, that was what made it worse. Everyone knew who was responsible, and who they were aiming for, but they were never caught in the act. There was no evidence to prove it, so Master Hand couldn't do anything directly to stop it.

And therein lay the magic words.

It was an off-hand comment from his brother that started it. "Deary me, watching those two fight, you'd never stand a chance if they worked together!" And Master Hand came up with his indirect plan to stop their arguing.

It was time to announce the side-tournament that would be going on in the evenings.

-*-

"Scruffy, insufferable, dim-witted-"

"Come on now, he's never been caught; you can hardly call him dim-witted!" Marth glanced up from pacing as he heard another new fighter interrupt his rant. He raised an eyebrow, and continued cursing.

"-bastard of an excuse for a mercenary!"

"I'm startin' to think you spen' more time 'round 'im than mosta us'd believe. That 'war' all'n act?" Snake regretted his words when Marth glared at him, promising pain the next time they faced off in battle. He hurried to redeem himself. "Or it'd be nothing. Bu' for how you soun' alike."

The Prince finally stopped pacing and looked head-on at the assassin. "Actually, most of the curses I know I learnt from Roy." Actually, bearing in mind how similar Roy and Ike sounded, Snake's comment made sense.

The assassin nodded sagely, to hide that he had no idea who the other was talking about. "'e was a fighter here..?" he trailed off.

Marth nodded. "One of the better ones. He had a strange fighting style, since he was so short, the established routines didn't suit him. He was my best friend here, but he left at the end of last year and I don't know why."

"Right." Now the Prince was calmer, Snake figured it was safe to ask his next question. "What happened to your falchion?"

Marth chuckled, looking at the broken sword hilt in his hand. "It's brilliant. Somehow, Ike found a replica of my sword and switched them. Unfortunately, the replica wasn't nearly as strong as the original, and it shattered after two blows."

The assassin put up a token effort not to laugh, but failed nonetheless. "An' you lost? That why you're annoyed?" Although, to be fair, annoyed didn't quite cover the Prince's feelings when he found him in the corridor.

"Oh, no, nothing like that. I found a hammer and walloped DK off the edge. He couldn't jump up in time. The really annoying thing is," Marth's voice dropped to a whisper, "is that I'm finding it so difficult to get annoyed at him now!"

"Who? DK? It's kinda unfair t'be annoyed with your victims," Snake pointed out.

Marth blinked. _Was the man really that clueless?_ The surprise shocked him out of his mood though, and he abruptly closed up. "Never mind. Come on, dinner's prepared in the hall."

The two left the corridor empty, but for a shadow that detached itself from the curtains and ran in the other direction.

-*-

The universe hated him. It wasn't enough that his _own_ world hated him, no. This one had to as well.

Marth's entire focus was on the notice put up by Master Hand during dinner. He didn't notice Peach's gobsmacked expression, or Zelda's sly grin.

**Attention Smashers.**

Well, they had that.

**My brother and I have decided to give you an opportunity to boost your standings in our tournament: starting next week, there will be another competition taking place.**

**After all, you did moan last year that there was no evening entertainment.**

And was Marth regretting that now. Similar expressions could be seen on the faces of Fox and Captain Falcon.

**To make the difference, you will be assigned a partner. During the following week you will train together, in preparation to face off. There will be no group stage. Defeat means you will go no further.**

_That will either be brilliant, or crippling._ Marth couldn't decide which.

**Victory will be awarded with an unspecified number of smash coins, to use as is pleasing.**

**Pairs are designated below.**

Therein lie the problem, and the certainty that some higher power wanted him dead, or insane.

Marth (Altea) ----- Ike (Crimea)

Him and Ike. Him and _Ike_.

He really wanted that victory, but how in hell would they pull it off?

**That is all.**

Why wasn't he angry?

His strategies were focused on bringing Ike around, not calming himself down.

Oh god. Did he view Ike as- as a _friend_?

What was wrong with him?

Marth rose from the table and claimed exhaustion. He went to his room early, trying to avoid any more sympathisers or gloaters (the voice of Samus shrieking, 'That's karma!' would stay in his head awhile).

Ike hadn't been at dinner. He wouldn't know yet. From that, Marth drew salvation, and began to plan.

The end goal had changed, he realised- whereas before he wanted to embarrass the mercenary- he couldn't say what the overriding goal was this time.

But he _could_ have a little fun on the way.

-*-

_Knock. Knock._

It would go away if he ignored it…

_Knock. Knock. Knock-Knock._

Patience was a virtue… it'd go away eventually…

_Smash!_

Ike let out a very unmanly scream as his door was bashed open. When he saw the figure in the doorway, he wrapped his blanket around his person and demanded to know what the hell they were doing at five-thirty in the morning.

"Oh, is it only the fifth hour? My time piece must have stopped overnight!" Marth exclaimed.

_I must not murder princes. I _must_ not murder princes._ If he repeated it enough times, maybe Ike would believe it.

"Were you not at the hall last night? There was a new notice on the board." Marth continued, unaware (more likely ignoring) the growing threat to his health.

"Couldn't you have let me discover this in three hours time?" Ike whimpered. He was not a pre-dawn person.

"No, I thought I'd do you a favour!" the Prince exclaimed brightly.

Ike sighed. He wouldn't get back to sleep now. Sitting up on his bunk, he beckoned the Prince to sit on the chair. "What do you want to tell me, Princess?"

Marth was so happy with Ike's grumpiness that he ignored the nick-name. "Master Hand has instigated a new side-tournament, to be fought in the evenings."

"Okay…" So far, Ike was unimpressed. He was about to kick the Prince out of his room, when he heard Marth's next statement.

"It's a pairs tournament, picked by the Hands, of course…"

Ike had a bad feeling about this. "Does the universe hate us that much?"

Instantly Marth was on his feet, livid at the mercenary. "What do you mean by that? Am I not a good enough partner for you? Are you forgetting our respective track records, the little bit where I am in fact two places above you in the rankings?" Ike winced at the volume.

"It's oh-dark thirty, Princess," he muttered. "A little respect for those still fortunate enough to be sleeping?"

Marth stopped shouting. "Oops," he said sheepishly.

"And I was referring to our track record off the battlefield. In what mind did either Hand think we'd attack the other team and not each other?"

"Maybe the same mind when they mentioned it was a complete knockout tournament from the beginning. You lose, you're out, and no second chances. Oh, and the winners get smash coins to use in the main tournament."

Suddenly, Ike realised why Marth was up here so early in the morning. Both reasons. "Right, you've won this round, now bugger off and let me get dressed. I'll see you in the training rooms in… fifteen minutes. We need to get used to fighting with each other, don't we?"

While looking down at his covers, Ike would've sworn he heard the Prince snort and mutter, "Hardly."

Just as the Prince was about to walk out of the door, Ike asked the question that had bugged him since finding out about the situation. "Why are we so calm about this?"

Marth snickered softly. "You're just plain tired. I'll expect no peace from you this week when you wake up properly. And… I had last night to destroy multiple training dummies in anger."

"Do you feel so much for me, Princess?" Ike smirked. Marth glared, and walked proudly through the wreckage into the corridor.

-*-

Waiting for Ike to arrive, Marth examined his words as he left the swordsman's room. It was scarily accurate; Ike got under his skin like no one else ever had, not even Roy. But, he hadn't been angered by the Hands' choice. Instead, he had felt… pleased. He wanted to spend time with the mercenary. And had he analysed _that_ thought to death last night.

Their mini-war over the last few weeks had been fun. Nothing had been spared, from Marth's chair collapsing at dinner (when all of the smashers were there) to Ike's sword being strung up from a tree when the man was in the shower. Watching him retrieve it had been the best entertainment that week.

Last night, Marth had realised he was oddly charmed by the attention the other would put into his plans, attention on him. Besides, none of their pranks were truly vicious, even in the beginning. It was almost as if they were… friends.

"Right, I'm here, now what?" Clearly Ike's mood had not improved.

Marth had planned this the previous evening. "We warm up, and spar." He said simply. "Not to win, but to observe each other's pattern of attack and defence. We need to be able to combine them well enough to be a single, effective force."

"Pretty words. But do you really think we can mesh our styles?" Ike was doubtful. "I mean, I don't have a particular style beyond 'hit the other guy first'."

"Who knows then?" Marth replied, before signaling 'ready' with his falchion. "You might learn something." Ike growled at the implication, and the spar was on.

-*-

After an hour, Marth called a halt. "Actually, your fighting is similar enough to an old style the guards in Altea use. I can work with that."

"I'm glad to hear it," Ike muttered. He still didn't see how they'd be able to work together.

"Would you let me teach you a couple of things before the first fight? Minor points, I promise," Marth asked.

Ike was about to refuse point blank when he made the mistake of looking the Prince in the eye. No guy should be able to make his eyes that wide, and cute he groused.

"Compromise." He decided. "I learn these 'minor points' from you, but you work on your upper body strength with me. With a bit more weight behind your attacks we'd be a lot more secure against the heavy fighters."

"And here I was planning to let you deal with them alone," Marth said sarcastically. "Fine. Deal." He looked to the side, out of the window. "Hey, the sun's up now."

"How delightful." Yes, remind him that he'd already been up for two hours. Without coffee.

"Let's go outside and see the morning gardens!" Marth suggested. "Come on, they're beautiful!" _Enter sub-plot one._

Ike wanted to say yes. _That's... surprising_. To stall, he replied "Careful there. People might think we're friends."

Marth's face fell. Ike felt awful. "Aren't we?" The prince asked. _It's only a little manipulation._

Ike considered everything that had happened over the previous month: the fight, the pranks, the training session this morning. The fact that he wanted to spend time with Marth.

"To borrow a word; actually, I think we could be."

"Could be?" _A little more, and I'll leave it be. Honest._

Ike smiled in response to Marth's cuteness. The Prince was again flushed adorably, with wide eyes and hair wilder than normal.

"Yes, Princess, we're friends."

At Marth's "don't call me that," said more as a habit than any hope of stopping the merc., Ike smiled wider and slung an arm around the prince's shoulders. "Come on," he said. "Let's walk in the gardens, friend."

They walked out, chatting companionably. A shadow watched them go, and sighed happily. The plan was working.

-*-


	4. Long Nights

Take four. Man. Four chapters!

Shout out to: kind of hungry, Kiyomi Kamida, Roses of the Night and Diagon the Dialga (who now has her own story up- go check it out!). Do I need to say how stupidly feedback makes me smile?

And I got someone worried about the manipulation mentioned at the end of the last chapter- it was nothing sinister, that was meant to be Marth's thought process, like how little sisters look cute to get what they want- he wants to be friends, and he's not above a bit of manipulation to make it happen. Of course, in reality, Ike wouldn't have to be forced into anything, he would leap into his prince's arms... (winks)

Chapter 4: Long Nights

Block. Block… _stop being defensive, idiot!_ Block. Block. Opening! _Attack!_

Marth watched on from the crowds as Ike took on Link for the first time. He definitely had power on his side, but Link was proving to be no pushover. As the match developed, it was gratifying to see some of the techniques he had taught the mercenary appear.

Slash once, follow through… _you prat, don't fall for that!_

He looked on in horror as Ike fell into the trap, putting his head into his hands with a groan. Wasn't being fooled by one opponent on the field enough for him?

He heard the spectators cheering. Did that mean Ike was out of the competition? It was a shame; he'd gotten so far, in his first year too.

Belatedly he realised the cheers weren't from Link's side of the stadium, but the side where he was sitting, and looked at the stage again.

Link was just getting to his feet, to retrieve his sword. Marth idly noticed it was lying a few feet away from the hero. What really caught his attention was the self-deprecating smile on the blonde's face. He had lost?

Marth leapt out of his seat, hoping to find Ike soon and congratulate him. The bluenette was sprawled out on the dressing room floor, tending to Ragnell with a cloth. He looked up as Marth closed the door.

"Heya, Princess."

He didn't mind the nickname _so_ much now. After all this time, it was almost an endearment. "Well done today, Ike! I could have sworn you'd fallen for his trick at the end!"

Ike smirked. "I've picked up more than sword tips from you, Marth." The Prince tilted his head, wondering what he meant by that. Ike continued to smirk and clean Ragnell, knowing he'd get it in a minute. "Remember our first battle?" he hinted finally; patience was overrated anyway.

The proverbial light bulb (neither man really trusted this elek-tri-sity thing, even after all the time spent in the mansion) lit up over Marth's head. He gasped. "That's, evil. Brilliantly evil."

"What can I say? I figured match a deception with another one." Ike saw the answering smirk on Marth's face, and finally put the cloth down. He held out his hand, and Marth obliged, helping him to his feet.

Neither minded when the other didn't let go of their hand.

They walked out to the mansion together, chatting about the pairs match they would have to fight tonight. Finally, they separated at the top of the stairs; their rooms were in different corridors, unfortunately.

Ike waved goodbye, walking backwards to keep Marth in his sight. Marth watched Ike as he walked away. He saw the accident waiting to happen before Ike did. He could have warned him, but it would be so funny…

"What the?-"

Thud. _Crash._

"Argh! Get this thing off of me! Please!" Ike looked hopefully at the Prince, the only other person in the corridor. He quickly gave up on that, seeing him doubled up in laughter.

"You could have warned me!" He whined, from his position on the floor.

"Too," gasp "good… face," hysterical giggles "priceless!"

The beeping made him try to string more than two words together. "Sorry R.O.B…. Should've warned you… look, I said sorry!"

R.O.B. beeped reproachfully one last time, before extracting himself from the mess of limbs and cloak that was his cushion. It served the human right for falling over him. He was fixing the window, he was meant to be there! This human deserved whatever bruises he got.

The robot trekked down the corridor and out of sight. Marth looked at the swordsman, still lying where he had fallen.

"Ike?"

No answer.

"Ike? Are you okay?" He stopped laughing. The mercenary hadn't moved.

Marth knelt down next to the prone figure and checked for obvious injuries. There was no blood, good, but he had to get Ike to the hospital. The man was nearly eight inches taller than him, with bulk to spare. How was he going to manage this?

Ike cracked an eyelid open. Marth was staring heavenwards, almost as if he was praying. Perfect. His hands shot out, grabbing Marth's forearms. At the same time, he flipped his torso, so Marth was the one on the floor.

With an undignified squeak, Marth toppled. He stared wide-eyed up at Ike, who was leaning over him.

"You know what?" Ike remarked. Marth was frozen, unable to say anything even if he had a reply. Ike was really close…

"It is quite funny from this perspective," the swordsman continued. He sat back. "C'mon, princess, I didn't scare you that much, did I?"

Marth found his voice, miraculously. He propped himself up on his elbows before replying. "No, just lost my voice for a minute. Nothing to worry about." Why was he speaking so quietly? He looked to the side, so he didn't start staring at Ike, who only leaned in closer, wondering what was wrong.

"Marth? Seriously, are you alright?" The Prince nodded furiously, hoping the mercenary would move. "Hey, look at me, please say I didn't hurt you?"

Ike frowned, worried. He caught Marth's chin and forced him to look at him. He looked flushed, was he feeling feverish? He felt Marth's forehead to check his temperature.

Marth felt his breath catch. How was Ike being so clueless?

"You're not running a temperature," Ike murmured. Marth's skin felt cool, soft and smooth. He trailed his hand down to his cheek, tucking a loose lock of hair behind his ear as he went. "Are you feeling okay?"

Marth couldn't believe the answer to that question wasn't obvious.

"Woah! My armoured eyes!"

"Pi_ka_!"

"In the middle of the corridor?"

The Prince had never been so glad to be interrupted in his life.

"Erm… Ike?" Samus braved the question, being the first to exclaim before. "What are you doing on Marth?"

_It was as if the situation hadn't even occurred to him,_ Marth mused, as Ike glanced down at their positions, and how close they were. _However, the blush is new. I don't think I've ever seen such a shade of red on him._

"Huh? What?" Ike glanced down. "Oh!" He felt his cheeks heating up. "Sorry- didn't realise-" Most of his words were lost in the mumbling.

Marth felt his breathing finally regulate as Ike put distance between them. But it hurt to see him back away so quickly.

"Could you keep it in your rooms in future guys?" Red asked as he breezed past, Pikachu in his arms with his eyes covered. "Little Pokémon are incredibly innocent and I'd like to keep it that way."

Ike stuttered. "B-But we weren't even d-doing anything like that!"

Red shrugged and walked away. Ike stared after him, and didn't see Marth's expression.

Samus caught the sadness and regret on the Prince's face as Ike denied doing anything. Hm. So it might have developed into something? For the first time in her life, she cursed her timing and felt slightly sorry for someone other than herself.

"Later Marth, Ike," she said, before seeking out somebody who might actually be able to help the situation. Anybody who actually understood this emotional crap.

She heard a tinkling laugh from behind a pink door. It couldn't belong to anyone else, and by the sounds of it, Peach was entertaining. Perfect.

She knocked politely and waited for an answer. Fifteen seconds later she was seated in all her armoured glory at a white wrought-iron table, 'drinking' Earl Grey tea from a delicate bone china mug. The growing tea stain on the carpet was a complete coincidence. Rather, they couldn't prove anything.

"It's lovely to see you, Samus!" Peach exclaimed. The bounty hunter had never visited her in her rooms before. "I'm sure you know Zelda, right?"

Samus nodded once, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. Maybe she should have arranged a meeting at a later date.

"I wondered if you'd noticed anything strange in the mansion," She began. "In particular, between two swordsmen?"

"You mean the fact that they're in love with each other and have yet to realise it? I'm glad you picked up on that; you can't be nearly as heartless as you make yourself out to be," Peach replied.

Zelda cut in. "Marth has realised. He was caught from that first match, and so he realised first."

"Huh? But what about Ike?" Now Samus was confused.

"He was only caught since his first defeat, so he will take longer, but be the first to act on it."

"Wasn't his defeat and the first match the same one?" Samus whispered to Peach, needlessly, for Zelda had slipped into her dreamy state of mind.

"I'm sure it makes sense to her, poor dear," Peach whispered back.

Samus considered what Zelda had actually said. "Hm. I just hope Ike acts before Marth breaks down." She'd seen the look in his eyes. There were equal parts of hope and despair.

-*-

Marth slumped in his chair as soon as he knew he was alone. He felt jittery; his legs were shaking and thank whatever deity there was in this strange land that he had got away when he had. He dreaded to think how he would have answered Ike's question, otherwise.

_No, I'm clearly not alright because I've become rather ridiculously-_ his mind froze- _**fond**_ _of you_. He _wouldn't _say anything else.

In any case, it would have gone down like Bowser in a hot-air balloon.

How had this happened? They'd been 'enemies' not a week ago. And, oh god, he had to fight with him tonight.

What would he do?

"We're fighting against Red and Luigi." Speaking out loud helped him calm his heartbeat. "That'll require mostly separate attacks. I won't actually need to fight with him." The talking grew much quieter. "I hope."

Marth sighed. "Unless something goes wrong. Which would be really bad because Red's a really hard hitter and could seriously hurt him." Marth realised where his thoughts had taken him and rubbed his eyes wearily. "It's going to be a long night," he concluded finally.

-*-

"Marth!" Ike called after the retreating figure. It didn't turn or even acknowledge him. Hm, maybe the Prince was deep in thought. He'd ignored other Smashers before without realising.

Ike turned and walked (facing forwards this time) to his own room. He might as well catch a nap before dinner if he could. Lying down, he closed his eyes, expecting to drop off after a few minutes; life as a mercenary taught a person to sleep whenever possible, because you could never tell how long you'd have to stay awake for.

Half an hour later, he frowned and sat up. He hadn't been unable to fall asleep since before he was given Ragnell, on completing his mercenary 'apprenticeship'. That was over five years ago. What had changed in the last few days?

New location? No problem. New people? Manageable. It wasn't the food; that was better than the merc. group could cook up, most of the time.

Relaxed as he was, the image of a blue-haired, blue-eyed (effeminate, but you don't say that to his face) man floated through his mind.

Marth.

Ike couldn't remember caring about anyone who wasn't a fellow mercenary or family (sometimes, he wished he didn't care for the family he had- it would've been much simpler). Marth was something entirely new to his emotions.

_When I'm with him, it's… normal to reach out, to be in contact, whether we're fighting or just talking._

What the hell was wrong with him?

-*-

"Fighting for a place in the quarter finals, I give you Marth! Ike! Red! Luigi!"

"That's our cue," Ike heard Marth mutter. They stepped onto the arena floor together, holding their swords high to salute the cheering crowds. He remembered what Marth had told him minutes ago.

"You distract Red while I take out Luigi, then together we corner him and his Pokémon and knock them out." His question of how he was expected to distract the trainer was left unanswered.

"Ike." The mercenary was dragged back to the present.

"Hm?"

"Don't do anything stupid," his partner told him. "I know Doctor Mario can heal almost anything, but I don't want to see you in hospital from those Pokémon. I'll be as quick as possible with Luigi."

Ike was touched. Marth was worrying about him?

"Match! Begin!"

He watched the Prince run to face the plumber, and couldn't help but feel he was missing something. It would have to wait until later, however, given the rather ticked-off Pokémon trainer was closing in on his partner.

How to distract him? What to do?

Later, he wouldn't know what possessed him.

"Hey, Red!" He yelled. "Call that a fight? Four on _that _one's hardly fair! Let's even the odds a little, shall we?" The Pokémon trainer turned immediately, incensed by the implied slur on his courage.

Calculated insult, check. Distraction, check. Idiotic suggestion, why? Why did he basically tell Red to use three of his Pokémon at once? _O__n himself?_

-*-

Luigi was a strange opponent. He was one of the Smashers that got worked up slowly, slowly… wound tighter and tighter… then all hell broke loose.

The tried-and-tested trick was to take him out before things got that dire. Marth went straight in for the figurative kill, striking for the plumber's neck. Unfortunately, Luigi dodged and Marth was left, unusually for him, striking empty air. He twisted to face the plumber again and lashed out, this time at his feet. Luigi jumped (obvious move there) but mistimed his landing; the platform hovered back across the arena, and Luigi stumbled and fell to his knees.

Marth took the opening and stopped his falchion just short of the death blow. Luigi nodded, accepting defeat, and ran from the arena. For the first time, Marth looked at what Ike was doing. It took a few blinks for him to realise he wasn't dreaming, yes, Ike was actually trying to fight off three of them at the same time.

_Trouble, thy name is Ike_. Marth sighed. How did the mercenary get into these messes?

-*-

Ike yelped; one of the Pokémon had caught his arm with a lucky shot. Can't be much longer, he thought. Then it'd be three on two. Much better odds.

As if summoned, Marth appeared at his side and began attacking the Pokémon to his right. With a few well-placed strokes, the creature was down and being recalled by the Master.

"How the..?" Ike began.

"How did you manage to get so in over your head?" Marth said at the same time. They locked gazes for a moment, before realising a battle was hardly the place for chatting.

Both going after a Pokémon each, they had the fight won in three minutes- Red couldn't keep switching his attention between the two.

"Game!" The commentator announced. "Winners: Marth! Ike!"

"Why is your name always first?" Ike grumbled.

Marth glared at him, both breathing hard from the battle. "Beauty before strength," he said, unthinkingly.

Ike stared at Marth. Yes, the Prince was beautiful, everyone could see that. Was that what was making him act strange? Then, why wasn't it affecting anything else? Snapping back to the present, Ike saw Marth growing edgy where he'd been staring for a while. Ike covered it with a laugh, breaking off his stare and looking back to the arena's entrance.

"Well," he swept his hand out in a grand gesture. "Ladies-" he coughed, not quite covering his slip-up. "Beauty first."

Marth swatted him upside the head, but proceeded to the gates. As soon as he was out of arm's reach, Ike added, "Princess."

The Prince couldn't help but laugh as he walked, Ike following behind him.

-*-


	5. Longer Fights

Second in one day- I need to get a life. Admittedly it's a bit shorter, but a nice break to make.

Extra shout out, 'cause I don't check my account nearly enough, to NanaeTsuki and Fhal. It's _really _nice to know that there's people out there who like this!

And 'cause I was bored, enjoy x2:

Chapter 5: Longer Fights

There were sixteen fighters left in the side tournament. Eight teams. Tensions were high in the Smash mansion, with those already out causing trouble and those yet to go needling their opponents, trying to undermine them.

Marth was surprisingly good at ignoring what everyone said. After three tournaments, there wasn't a lot of new 'insults' they could throw at him.

Unfortunately, Ike had none of his experience- or restraint.

He heard both squeaks before he turned around the corner. Along with the sound of something- two somethings- colliding with a solid wall. Carefully, Marth surveyed the corridor before turning in. He had no desire to have a sword thrown at him; Mario was still in the Smash medbay, five days on.

Ike had his back to him, so there was no immediate danger. To him, at least; the ice climbers crumpled against the wall may have wanted to dispute his thought.

"Say that again!" Ike shouted. "I dare you!"

The ice climbers shivered, and looked anywhere but the irate swordsman. They saw Marth standing behind him, and if anything, their eyes opened wider. Ike half turned to see what they were staring at, and slung Ragnell casually over his shoulder on seeing the Prince.

"Afternoon."

Marth gestured for the climbers to run while Ike was distracted. They scarpered.

"Evening, actually. You missed dinner." Marth's tone was mild, but his gaze was reproving.

Ike looked sheepish. "I got a bit caught up," he admitted. He gave a crooked half-grin, and Marth recognised that the mercenary didn't want to talk about it.

"Kitchen?" He offered.

Ike nodded, relieved and fell into step beside the Prince, who was unknowingly the cause and content of most of the taunts thrown at Ike.

-*-

"We drew Bowser and Pikachu for our semi final."

Marth nodded briefly to show he'd heard and carried on with his training formation. Then Ike's words actually sank in, and he missed the next step. "Bowser? And Pikachu? Who put those two together?"

Ike gave a wry grin. "The selection was random, remember?" His tone indicated he thought exactly the opposite.

Marth laughed, sheathing his falchion. "I think then that I'll leave Bowser to you. I'll take out Pikachu."

"When did you become the strategist in this partnership?" Ike tried to sound puzzled, but his smile gave it away.

The prince basked in the warm teasing, something he'd rarely had in Altea- his status either made people avoid him, or seek him for the wrong reasons. He returned Ike's smile without speaking.

Ike noticed something change in Marth's expression, becoming warmer, beyond the normal banter they exchanged.

"What's wrong?" He asked, trying to think of what he'd said.

"Nothing." Was the immediate response.

The mercenary blinked. "Huh? Then why… what's put that look on your face?"

Marth's expression immediately went blank. "What look?" He asked carefully, voice even.

Ike saw the Prince's face go neutral, and felt saddened for some reason. "Never mind," he murmured, and left him to his practice.

-*-

Marth paced behind closed doors. His friendship with Ike was becoming strained, and although he hated it, he couldn't think of how to rectify the problem. Ike was too perceptive of him to remain in the dark for long, and Marth thought he would rather distance himself from the mercenary than be entirely rejected later.

Stupid feelings! Why here, and now, and why him?

He remembered his initial impressions of the merc. 'Rude, crass, ignorant…' how blind had he been? The last few months had been some of the best in his life, all because of Ike- whether they were pranking each other or working together.

They had to face Zelda and Pit in the couples' final. Tonight. It would be the first time seeing him since _that _afternoon… since their first real argument.

-*-

Ike destroyed another training dummy and yelled in frustration. Where did that princess come up with his rubbish? Why hadn't any of what he'd said mattered at the start, when they'd first started getting close?

And damn it, why did it hurt so much?

-*-

_'That'_ Afternoon...

_"Hey." Ike said the greeting without expecting a reply. Marth had turned cold over the last few days, since they defeated Bowser and Pikachu, in fact. The only thing he could think was that the Prince was annoyed with him getting himself both blown up and squashed before being sent off of the stage, out of the fight._

_But it wasn't like they'd lost because of it; Marth taking on Bowser had been a sight to see. He'd even apologised sincerely, something very few people could claim to have seen._

_What did the Princess do? "Don't apologise until you know what you're apologising for!" And he storms from the room. He had a temper to rival Ike's, sometimes._

_As usual, Marth simply moved to the far side of the room, leaving half for Ike to practise in himself. Not this time, though. "What about a friendly spar?" Ike said. His voice, so expressive, this time left no doubt that his question wasn't merely a request._

_Marth paused, before nodding, almost to himself. He put his sword in the guard position and waited for Ike to do the same._

_Ike called "Begin!" and at the same time shot his left hand out to crack on the Prince's cheekbone. Not expecting the immediate and physical attack, Marth reeled backwards, falchion falling to his side. Ike followed up with a leg sweep, knocking the prince to the floor. He placed Ragnell at the prince's throat, and silkily asked, "Concede?"_

_Unable to do much else, Marth said "Yes." Keeping his voice clipped._

_"Alright then." Ike didn't move his sword. "While you're trapped here, I want to talk to you. What did I do, Princess? Why are you holding a grudge against something I can't work out? Am I proving your original opinion right, the idiotic mercenary who can't get anything right?" Ike paused to breathe. "And why won't you talk to me? I thought we were friends!"_

_Marth laid there quietly, debating what would be the best thing to say. He stared at Ike, unable to get anything past the lump in his throat. As the silence stretched, Ragnell became heavier in Ike's hand, grazing the skin of Marth's neck._

_As he caught sight of the blood, the mercenary started and threw the broadsword to the ground in shock. He hadn't actually meant to injure the prince, hell, both of them knew if Marth had wanted, he could have batted Ragnell aside with his hand. Ike backed up as the Prince got to his feet, carefully feeling the cut._

_Marth knew how to take an opening. "I think you've just found something else you need to apologise for," he stated coolly, and stalked out._

_Marth heard Ike's roar of frustration and sorrow, but Ike couldn't see the tears as they flowed down Marth's cheeks._

-*-

Ike returned to his room for the last time before the couple's final and his attention was immediately drawn to the square envelope on his bed. New post? He recognised Roy's handwriting on the parchment, and grabbed it eagerly, looking for anything that would take his mind off of The Argument.

_Dearest cousin,_

_Oh wait, no, wrong letter._

_Ike, _(The mercenary snorted at his cousin's poor attempt at humour.)

_From what I've heard, you're doing very well in both tournaments. And I finally found out what you needed the pink dye for, nice idea, wish I'd done it to him. Best of luck in your finals, anyway. But back to 'him'. What in all of Altea (and Crimea, by the sounds of it) did you do to annoy your princess so much?_

_I thought you had become friends, and I get a three-foot monstrosity from him detailing why princes and merc.s are absolutely unable to mix, even co-exist, in the same country as each other._

_When he's focusing on how your shades of blue clash, you can guess how worked up he is, and how much he isn't actually focusing on what he's writing._

_A request then, the point of this letter in fact. Make up with the guy, let him kick your _(the next word was heavily scratched out, Ike suspected the palace scribes had read it before it was allowed out) _in training, hell, _kiss_ him if that's what's wrong, but by god I do not want another hour and a half of my life wasted by being forced to read through a friend's nonsense grievances against his would-be boyfriend. When did that happen, anyway?_

_My luck to you on and off the stage,_

_Your favourite cousin, Roy._

The letter fell from his hands and Ike sat down heavily.

'His' princess? 'Would-be boyfriend'? What kind of impression had Marth given the Boy General?

Ike's eyes widened in shock.

Why did everything suddenly make sense?

-*-


	6. Minor Victories

Short again, I know. Hopefully speed makes up for it? (smiles in that way that gets her out of trouble with her parents)

Shout out to: Hyal, Kiyomi Kamida, Diagon the Dialga and PoisonedxHearts. You can probably guess that I'm grinning as I type these.

Chapter 6: Minor Victories

Marth was feeling incredibly foolish. It came and went with his anger. In one of those angry times, he had sent an absolute… travesty of a letter to Roy, and now he was feeling rather foolish about it. Especially as although he couldn't remember exactly what he'd wrote, he had an inkling it revealed more than he would have in his right mind.

The call for 'All fighters participating in tonight's battle to the prep. rooms!' was sounded throughout the mansion, and Marth's stomach fluttered as he realised he'd see Ike again. Then he frowned. _Stupid feelings_.

-*-

Ike was late to the preparation room, caught up in his revelation. How long, he wondered, did I just not realise? Marth was beautiful, but it was more than that. It was the way he gave as good as he got when they were fighting; Ike knew he'd rarely need to fear for the Prince's safety. It was the way he laughed even though Ike couldn't work out what he'd done to amuse him.

"Here you are. I wondered if you'd decided to throw the tournament in a decision of anger and spite."

Hell, even his cool fury was cute in its own way. It could be fun seeing how far he could push the prince before he started shouting.

"I know your current opinion of me must be incredibly low, but even someone who's lived a life of palace luxury should be able to remember that a rough mercenary like me would never throw a fight, since we don't need an excuse to start one." His revelation had done wonders for his anger. Ike caught sight of a small bandage on the prince's collarbone, and winced. "I am sorry about that cut, and this time I'm apologising for losing my temper to the extent that I didn't realise I was injuring you."

Marth blinked, and Ike was happy that he'd managed to surprise him.

"Marth? Ike? Ready?" Both nodded to the announcer.

"Seconds, then out." He said.

Ike turned to Marth. "I'll take on Pit this time," he suggested. Then he added with the familiar, teasing grin, "You princesses should be more evenly matched." Ike strolled out onto the stage, raising his sword in salute.

Marth shook his head to clear it. He shouldn't be focusing on how nice that grin looked on that face right before a battle. Sighing once, he followed Ike into the final.

-*-

Marth ducked beneath Zelda's spell and came up a lot closer than she had predicted. As she jumped, he swung at her ankles. Knocking her onto her back, he raised the sword to her throat. She nodded, finally conceding their battle.

"I hope all becomes clear soon," she said, before clearing the stage. Marth put the comment out of mind and focused on the other side of the arena.

Ike was forced to drop as Pit swept down from above. How he hated the angel's wings. He felt the twin swords graze his back even so, and winced. He could never afford to rack up too much damage; most fighters had a jumping advantage over him, and could get blown off the stage without too many problems. He couldn't.

Ike swung Ragnell in one hand and raised his other, greave first, to take the second blow from the angel. Pit, not seeing the retaliation until it was too late, was blown backwards, over the edge. Ike ran after him, unable to let up on whatever advantage he could scrape. Sure enough, Pit had started flying and was back behind him again. Ike spun and caught sight of Marth finishing off Zelda. She'd just conceded.

His attention was wrenched back to his own battle when he felt the blow in the centre of his chest. He felt open air under his back foot and balanced precariously on his other, over the edge. He jumped at the last moment, trying to get above Pit's next strike. The angel followed him-

-and turned straight into Marth's blow. Caught off-guard, nobody stood much of a chance. Pit went hurtling off the stage, and Ike landed less than gracefully at the Prince's feet.

"What do I even need you for?" Marth huffed, offering the mercenary a hand up.

Ike was tempted to ruffle the blue locks. Instead, he shouldered Ragnell and grabbed the proffered hand, letting the Prince take most of his weight. Point proved, he replied, "Could you have done that before my training?"

_It was annoying, but true_, Marth admitted. In the privacy of his own mind- he'd never give Ike the satisfaction.

Unfortunately for the Prince, Ike had become proficient at reading into what he did, and didn't, say. "Isn't that what this competition was all about?" He muttered. "Stronger together and all that?" Ike sounded disturbed by the idea, perhaps more by the fact that it was successful. Marth reflected that trusting a partner was mostly unheard of for mercenaries.

"Come on," he said. "Our trophy awaits us."

Ike grabbed his hand again as the Prince was about to walk off, and said quietly, "We have to talk. Later, in private."

Eyes wide, Marth nodded. Ike kept a hold of his hand, and raised them in victory. It was only then Marth really became aware of the crowd cheering wildly, and the Master Hand- in public- at the front of the stands. In a daze, he stepped forwards, in time with Ike. They picked up the trophy together, and raised it high.

Ike wasn't looking at the fans, or at their prize. He was gazing at Marth, caught by the happiness so openly displayed. Finally winning something clearly meant a lot to him. As the Hand announced their names for the final time, Marth looked back, and blushed when he realised his partner was staring at him. He looked away, and Ike seized the chance to drop their raised hands in favour of putting his arm around the Prince's shoulders, drawing him into his side. Marth blushed more, but didn't pull away. In fact, he put his own arm around Ike's waist.

As the victorious swordsmen walked away together, Master Hand made a mental note to congratulate his brother on a plan well completed.

-*-

Marth woke up with a crick in his neck, and with warmth radiating from his right side, from whatever it was he was lying on. He felt his pillow move slightly, and corrected himself. From _whoever_ he was lying on.

Then Marth's brain caught up, and he shot up from his prone position, eyes opening. He recognised the Smasher's recreation room from the bleary picture his sight provided, and belatedly wondered what Captain Falcon had put in the drinks' dispenser last night. It hadn't mattered nearly so much at the time, with the party in full swing.

He looked back at the couch, half dreading what he was going to see.

Enter Ike. Awake and smirking.

Marth wasn't quite sure what to say. When he realised, Ike's smirk grew wider, into a full-blown grin. "Head hurting much, Princess?"

Come to think of it, the lights were slightly painful. And Ike didn't normally shout, when he wasn't angry.

The mercenary continued, unaware or having too much fun with his hangover. "I think a good time was had by all… the Pokémon weren't too traumatised… Pit got out of hospital a few hours in… Crazy Hand got plenty of blackmail for the next three decades…"

Looking around at the people still blissfully asleep and without the headache he felt growing, Marth had to wonder just what had happened last night. He remembered up until… his eyebrows shot up.

"I suppose you remember up until my esteemed cousin arrived? And you went from chatting, to challenging him to a drinking contest?" Marth nodded for the first question, but looked blank at the second.

Ike stood up. "Come on, Princess. The Doc promised some sort of cure for the morning." He took Marth's hand without needing to think about it, and the Prince froze in place. His eyes searched Ike's face, looking for any clue as to what he had said, or done, the night before.

Feeling resistance, Ike stopped and waited for the Prince to start moving. When he saw Marth's attention shifting from himself to the couch and back, he gave some gentle reassurance. "I'm sure it'll come back to you eventually."

Marth jumped like a startled rabbit, with the 'caught in the secret tunnel' look in his eyes. Okay, so Ike knew he wasn't being particularly reassuring, but then again, Marth hadn't told him anything he hadn't known or guessed already.

"I'm still clueless as to why I should apologise, if that's any consolation," Ike added.

The Prince narrowed his eyes, and attempted to glare. Then he stalked off, leaving Ike to follow quickly or get dragged along behind, for of course, Marth hadn't let go of his hand.

-*-


	7. Major Shocks

I think I've got it planned now, and I'll warn that there'll probably only be two more chapters after this, with what I wrote as the original story.

Shout out to (my loyal fans ; ) You Make Me So Happy!) : Diagon the Dialga, Kiyomi Kamida, Shadir and Nightflower Doll.

Hope nobody hates me for this.

Minutes later: live preview showed me some careless mistakes in the editing/formatting. Have hopefully caught all of them now.

Chapter 7: Major Shocks

It was possibly the biggest surprise of the tournament. Ike still couldn't believe it, and he was intimately involved.

He continued to stare at the 'Zero-Suit'ed Samus, not comprehending. The brawl was over; one of the two semi finals was completed. And he had lost.

He'd lost. To a girl. It was worse than losing to Marth. Nonetheless, he saluted her on autopilot, and left her to celebrate with the crowd. It could still be a newbie's tournament, after all. And with his victory in the couples' tournament, he'd already won quite the handsome prize…

He'd lost. By the goddess, how had that happened?

-*-

Marth guessed Ike wouldn't be feeling very sociable that evening, so he sought him out in the training rooms. Rumour said he hadn't emerged since the afternoon, and true to tale, he heard shouts of "Aether!" as he walked up the corridor. As a precaution, he drew his falchion before entering.

"Ike?"

The mercenary turned and stared at him, clearly upset. Marth hadn't realised how much the tournament had meant to him; at least as much as it did to Marth himself, if not more.

"I can't understand it. I'm playing the scene over and over in my head, and I can't think of what went wrong."

He didn't think Ike had gone to see the doctor yet. That was his first priority. "Didn't you see her electro-" Marth stopped. The least he could do was not make it sound like an accusation. "She used her electronic whip to hang on that last time you pummelled her. From there, she just… returned the favour."

Ike winced, feeling his side cautiously. "Bounty hunter hits hard," he grunted. "I just didn't see her coming."

"Come with me," Marth said. He tried not to make it an order. Ike raised an eyebrow, maybe he needed to try harder. "I'd like you to see the doctor and get something to eat." The other eyebrow joined the first.

"Might start to think you care." Ike muttered. But he shouldered Ragnell. "Lead the way."

So relieved Ike was actually listening to him, Marth started to talk randomly (in a lesser noble, it might be called 'babbling'). "You know, at least you were KO'ed out of the semi. That has to be better than me taking you out in the final."

For that comment, Ike shoved him into a door. In front of the dining hall, where dinner was taking place.

"You'll pay for dhat," Marth promised, holding his nose. "I'll ged you back."

"The last time was first's luck, Princess," Ike replied breezily. "You couldn't defeat me again."

"And who is dhe newcomer here?" Marth returned. "So dhe firs' dime luck would in facd, be yours?"

Ike laughed. He had no comeback to that and simply said, "I think someone needs to see the doctor."

Marth held his nose gingerly, and growled. "I vonder whose fauld dhat is?"

-*-

Of all the people (and creatures and… inkblots), Marth had to draw Gannondorf. It reminded him of home, watching the brawls in the alehouses. The bigger guy always won. And Gannondorf was one of the biggest smashers present this year.

"Hell." He muttered. Looking around surreptitiously, he checked there was nobody near his waiting room. He yelled it out. "Oh, hell!"

"And damnation, or just the flames?" Ike asked from the doorway.

Marth spun, embarrassed Ike had seen his loss of composure. Although, it could have been worse. It could have been the Captain, or one of the other gossips in the mansion.

"Hey now. It can't be any worse than facing me, surely?"

Marth looked incredulous. He pointedly swept his gaze from Ike's head to his feet. "6 ft 5 human." He glared outside. "7 ft plus extras… evil overlord." He looked down at himself. "5 ft 11 willow tree." The comparison was obvious with whose odds he favoured.

"I happen to appreciate the fact that you're a 5 ft 11 Princess with a sword for backup."

"Little good it'll do me against a warlock." He didn't even twitch. Something was seriously wrong.

"Then dodge."

"And pray."

"You won't need to!" Ike all but shouted. "I've never seen you so nervous before a brawl before- what's wrong?"

Marth stopped pacing. He hadn't even realised he'd started, truth be told. "Gannondorf knocked me out of my first tournament," he admitted. "And I've only ever made it to the quarter finals before."

Ike figured he'd better calm the Prince down before the five minute warning. "Win or lose, you've done something you haven't done before." A momentary pause. "Given yesterday, I can't believe I just said that."

Marth chuckled mirthlessly. "Despite yesterday, I'd have thought you were supporting Zero-Suit Samus anyway."

"Over my friend?" Ike said. "Besides, the bitc-" he saw Marth's stubborn look. "The bounty hunter defeated me. I'm not supporting her until hell freezes over."

"Five minute warning, Prince! Oh, sorry Ike, you need to go now." The announcer rushed back into the stage, probably to warn his opponent.

"You'll be okay?" Ike asked.

Marth smiled. "I'll pray."

-*-

_Son of a –_

"Gannondorf suffers a 50% penalty for beginning the brawl before 'Game!' was announced," rang out over the stadium.

Given that his entirely successful surprise attack had caused Marth no end of problems with his left arm, (he would struggle to wield his falchion two-handed, reducing his repartee of stronger attacks), the Prince felt the penalty wasn't nearly harsh enough. Especially since it took a strong blow to knock the bastard off the stage.

_Focus. Deflect. Duck. Dodge. Jump!_

He couldn't even get a look-in. The fists were flying and it was all he could do to avoid them. He realised he was slowly being forced backwards, and risked glancing behind himself to see where the edge was. His peripheral vision saw a solid punch heading for his left shoulder, his damaged arm. He cursed, knowing he couldn't move in time.

Marth felt himself go flying. Stars had nothing on pain. He reached out blindly for the edge of the platform and winced as both his shoulder pulled, and he realised he'd gone too far. Grunting in pain, Marth used his recovery jump just in time to grab the edge.

Unfortunately, Gannondorf was waiting there for him. He swung his sword wildly to force the warlock back, and pulled himself back onto his feet before the warlock retaliated. At the same time, he grabbed the bomb that Gannondorf had disregarded as unnecessary to his win.

Timing would be everything. Gannondorf couldn't jump as high as he could. Marth had to wait until he was nearly face to face…

He threw the bomb at Gannondorf and jumped onto the highest platform, away from the explosion. Gannondorf roared in anger and tried to jump as well, but his weight held him back far enough to be caught, not ideally in the middle of the combustion, but far enough that his damage count overtook Marth's for the first time in the brawl. Finally, the Prince felt he was in with a chance at victory.

The explosion died down and Gannondorf was sent reeling back, but still on the platform. Marth took a moment to scowl- it wasn't fair. He sighed and charged back in with his falchion in attack position.

He scored two more hits before the warlock struck out, glancing off his armoured side. Not that it didn't hurt; it was the difference between a bruise and a scar. He rolled with the punch, going to ground and getting back to his feet in time to aim for Gannondorf's throat.

The warlock froze. Marth forgot to breathe. Even the stadium audience was quiet.

Then the cheers erupted. Marth stood still, locked in position. He was in shock. _He didn't block..._

Eventually, Gannondorf shoved the Prince away, ignoring the shallow cut he had gained over his jugular. "You cheated, anyway," he growled, storming off.

The sword fell to the ground with a clang. Marth flinched, apparently brought back to the present by the sound.

"Bloody hell," he whispered. "I won." He saluted the crowd and walked in a daze back to his changing room.

-*-

"You're in the final, Marth! YOU are IN the FINAL!" Ike was more than a little excited. The doctor had just left, and Marth was in the final!

Marth nodded, still on cloud nine and counting. Ike noticed this and suspected something.

"You aren't listening to me, are you?"

Marth nodded blindly.

"I say we go out, get blind drunk and rig Samus's room to lock her in, just in time for the final brawl."

The Prince nodded a couple of times. Then a horrified look crossed his face, and he stared at Ike. "Say what?"

"I see your sense of honour remains intact. It is a shame I can't say the same for your mind." Ike smirked.

Marth gave his best wide-eyed look. He'd caught on by now. "Why Ike, I'm so happy for you!" While Ike's mind worked furiously to think of what he should be ecstatic over, Marth continued. "You're constructing fluent insults! You've thrown off your grunt-like origins and through my influence, been welcomed into the realms of the educated." He smirked right back at Ike, who was now rather flabbergasted. "And yes, yes and hell no. As you said, my honour is still standing, even if you've corrupted my habits."

As Ike stood there, blinking, Marth gave up and grabbed the mercenary's arm. "Come on, we have my impending final to celebrate! _I'm in the final!_" Ike looked at the Prince and let himself be dragged along. It was something he was getting used to.

"Hn." He finally grunted in reply.

-*-

Breakfast the next day was quite the affair. Everybody was bright and happy, right up until there was only fifteen minutes left. Even Snake was enjoying a conversation, on the relative benefits of smoke versus shrapnel grenades.

That he was talking into a conveniently placed mirror (put there by Falco, who had been sitting next to the assassin) was completely irrelevant.

There were two conspicuous absences. Peach raised an eyebrow as Marth slinked into the room and sat down, slamming his head onto the table after he did so. He then groaned as the action inflamed his already pounding migraine.

"I swear, by gods, king and country; that is the last time I let Ike talk me into anything." The pink princess was about to ask, despite her better judgement, when another entrance drew her attention.

Ike slammed the door open and said, "But Princess, you forget just how little talking there was involved." He ignored everybody who looked very interested in their conversation and grabbed some toast. He ate quickly before strolling from the hall. "Marth?" He called from the doorway. The Prince, who had been cursing under his breath enough to make an assassin blush, raised his head blearily. "I'll see you at nine, like we agreed last night." He walked away, whistling.

Peach asked the question that had been on her mind since the hung over Marth had arrived. "What did you do last night?"

By this point, Marth had downed a mug of coffee. It helped immediately; he felt able to answer questions again. "Truth be told, I'm more worried about what I agreed to do today," he replied.

Peach blushed and ducked her head. Next to her, Zelda was looking rather amused. They kept silent as Marth drank two more cups of coffee and ran from the hall to make his nine o'clock appointment.

Halfway to the training room, he woke up properly and his headache had faded slightly. The entire conversation at breakfast took on a different meaning in his head and he blushed furiously.

He adamantly refused to tell Ike why throughout the entire training session. The mercenary smirked, but let it drop, appreciating how cute it made the Prince look.

-*-

Dinner was probably more interesting than breakfast. Although the two swordsmen were on time, it got off to a fine start when Marth apologised profusely to both Peach and Zelda for what he had said that morning, citing that, 'He had not thought of the connotations'.

Ike told the Prince to stop talking like a ponce and explain what he was on about. Marth refused. Peach and Zelda giggled, as did Link, though he'd never admit it.

"Fine," Ike huffed. "Princess? Would you please tell me what on earth you said to these two fine ladies this morning, and regarding what?"

"Now who's talking like a ponce?" Marth muttered.

"You lead by example," Ike returned.

"You'd follow me off a cliff?" Marth asked.

"You'd be stupid enough to walk off one?" Ike honestly wondered sometimes.

Marth couldn't think how to reply to that. He blamed his still hung over state. Which reminded him… "I know you drank more than I did last night. Why weren't you feeling worse than me in training?"

The Smashers alternatively gasped or blinked, as they realised what the two had been talking about that morning.

Ike laughed. "I've been a mercenary since I could hold a sword. I know how to hold my drink, Princess." He caught sight of the other Smashers, all of whom were trying to avoid catching his eye. "What did I say?"

"I think they just realised what on earth we were talking about this morning, and regarding what." Marth parroted.

Ike's brow furrowed. "What did you think we were talking about?" He recalled what he could of the conversation, and ran it through his mind again and again. He was largely silent through dinner; a rarity in itself.

During dessert, Ike dropped his spoon.

Marth grinned.

Moments later, a quiet, "Sorry," was heard, directed at Peach. She waved it off, also grinning.

Ike was silent for the rest of the meal too.

-*-


	8. First Expression

Ack. 'Tis shorter again, but action packed to make up for.

Anybody willing to place any bets on the final? No? Not even a cyber cookie? Damn, I like cookies.

Dear lord, but it's difficult coming up with relevant chapter titles that don't give anything away. If this is a tad predictable, I apologise in advance.

Shout out to: Kiyomi Kamida, PoisonedxHearts, Diagon the Dialga, Fhal and TunaSaladSpritzer. Thanks to you and everyone so far who's given me any kind of sustenance, er, feedback.

Chapter 8: First Expression

-*-

The final had arrived. Marth was in the final, and it still hadn't sunk in. He knew this was the last battle of the tournament, and it was going to be difficult, but he couldn't quite appreciate that that indeed meant he could win this tournament. He could lift that trophy…

Just another fight. He had to treat this like just another fight.

But it was already different- he'd been in bed at _sunset _yesterday- Ike hadn't been impressed.

No, it was just another fight. A normal, albeit slightly difficult fight.

But it couldn't be worse than Gannondorf. This Samus was a new smasher, her inexperience would show.

She had defeated _Ike_.

He was _doomed_.

-*-

It was on very shaky legs that Marth entered the arena for the final battle. As he did, the crowd went wild, and he lifted his falchion in salute. Opposite him, he saw Samus in her Zero-Suit, hands held up to the sky. He tuned out their audience, with difficulty, and saluted Samus directly. She nodded at him in return, mutual respect for both of them getting this far.

"Fighters! Ready?" Marth nodded once, decisively. It was just another battle. He saw Samus wave her hand distractedly. Evidently, the commentator was used to her signals.

"Game!"

She immediately leapt at him; he performed a hurried block that slipped under her impact. Nonetheless, it held up through her kicks and he sustained no damage. As she regained her footing, he swept at her calves, hoping to take her off-balance. No luck. She jumped, and somersaulted so she was once again in an attacking position. Marth ducked and rolled away.

Samus appeared to enjoy close combat; that would work to his advantage. When both fighters were human, Marth didn't care how strong they were; a sword would cause more damage than a fist, or foot. It was her ranged battle he had to avoid; her gun had won her too many battles for him not to be wary.

With that thought in mind, he closed up on her, charging with his falchion outstretched. She cursed (who had said _that_ in front of a lady?) and went on the defensive, stopping her own charge and allowing Marth to complete his move with momentum on his side rather than hers. He scored a shallow cut in her side and inner arm. It bled briefly before being sealed by the arena's magic, employed for this occasion to prolong the final. Her damage count, however, increased as normal.

And so the battle continued. She would get her kicks in while he went from one attack to another, and he would score small wounds in non-fatal locations, following her movements and not letting her get her gun out for a good shot. Their damage counts climbed steadily higher, but neither at any point appeared to have the advantage.

In the crowd, Ike could honestly see this coming down to a stalemate, and re-match. He then thought about the effect that would have on his Prince's nerves, and hoped it wouldn't.

Marth knew he needed one, uncontested, powerful blow to knock her off of the stage. By now they both had a damage count so high, they'd go flying. By general consensus, no objects were allowed in the final, so he couldn't use another bomb like he had on Gannondorf.

The beginnings of a plan took root in his mind. It was crazy, potentially suicidal, and largely inspired by Ike.

Marth smiled inwardly. This was perfect.

-*-

Samus couldn't believe the Prince had lasted this long. She had stamina from being a bounty hunter, and she was starting to get tired. She just needed to get far enough away to shoot… then he'd go flying. Her eyebrows rose in shock as Marth stumbled. On autopilot, she took advantage of the mistake, hardly daring to believe- she could end this battle- she might yet win.

In the stands, Ike stood up in shock. He couldn't believe Marth would throw away his chance over such a stupid, rookie mistake…

Marth knew Samus would have her gun aimed and primed by now, and dropped, rolling forwards, not even trying to regain his feet. Her shot missed him by inches. He carried on rolling, and crashed into her, knocking her off the platform she was standing on. He fell through the surface to land on the base floor with her. Before she could recover, he swung out and shoved her off of the stage's edge.

Samus had one chance to get back on the platform. Just like in the semi-final, she extended her electro-whip, and it caught on the edge. She hoisted herself up and climbed back onto solid flooring. She didn't believe in luck, but Marth had his back to her; her trick had twice fooled her opponents in as many brawls. She stepped forwards silently, for once grateful she wasn't wearing her power-suit. It was faster, but also noisier; it was difficult to sneak up on someone. She curled one hand into a fist, ready to hit the Prince in the centre of his back and send him flying.

The audience held its collective breath.

And Marth pivoted at the last instant. His falchion caught Samus in the chest, and incredibly, _she_ was the one who went flying, too shocked to move.

Marth smiled. One solid blow. It had been all he'd needed.

As Samus re-materialised back where she had started, thus signaling her defeat, he raised his sword to the sky.

He'd done it. By Altea and the goddess, he'd _won_.

-*-

The presentation ceremony passed in a blur. Marth had one thing in his mind the entire time, and repeated it like a mantra, _I won the tournament, I won the trophy, I proved myself! I did it!_ Every time he thought it might be over (he'd lifted the trophy and smiled for the cameras, after all; what more did they want?) his free left hand, his right being clutched around a trophy handle, would be grabbed by another smasher, or another well-wishing spectator, or another… Hand?

Marth dragged his thoughts into the moment and attempted to answer the Master's statements with slightly more than the vacant smile he'd given everyone else. The Master Hand, however, seemed used to it, and moved on quickly, saying barely more than "Congratulations on your win, Prince Marth." Manners drilled into him from childhood let him say "Thank you" gracefully, while he was absently wondering how the Hand even spoke, and why had he not thought of it before? Victory had a strange effect on his mind; it was wandering all over the place.

Then the one person he'd wanted to celebrate with stepped into his field of vision, and Marth started running. The crowd parted for him, and Ike saw him coming. He caught the Prince and hugged him as Marth jumped and threw his arms around the mercenary's neck.

Ike's words seemed an echo of Marth's thoughts, "You did it, Marth! You actually did it!" He was practically yelling in the Prince's ear; the surrounding crowd was so loud it was the only way to be heard.

Before he could regret it, buoyed by his victory (and more than likely, the victory drinks pushed on him by Samus) Marth turned his head to look at Ike head-on; held up as he was, the two were at eye-level. He took only a second to meet the swordsman's eyes before ducking forwards and catching his lips. The noise didn't matter anymore, and he couldn't give a care for propriety. All that mattered was Ike's reaction. He pulled back after a few seconds and felt himself blush. He couldn't meet Ike's eyes again.

Slowly, he felt himself being lowered back onto his own feet. But Ike didn't release him completely; instead one hand came up and lifted his chin, forcing Marth to see his reaction. Marth closed his eyes, still blushing furiously.

He heard a low chuckle, and that hand moved up to cup his cheek.

"Open your eyes," he heard Ike say. Marth shook his head.

"Open your eyes," Ike repeated himself, more insistent.

Marth took a deep breath, and risked it. He hadn't been shoved away yet, after all.

Ike was smiling at him. Not the smug, superior smirk most were used to seeing but a genuine, tender expression.

Hesitantly, he smiled back, and Ike took it as permission.

This time it was he who bent down, and Marth rose up onto his toes to meet him. Their kiss was sweet, soft, and over far too soon.

"What prompted this?" Ike asked softly. Without Marth noticing, he had steered the two of them into a small alcove where they weren't being stared at so much.

Marth wished he had a logical answer. "I think I just grew tired of waiting for that talk," he said, finally. Ike's eyes lit up in realisation, and he grinned unabashedly.

"I think we've had a few too many things happen in the meantime for you to hold that against me." Marth laughed at his response and hugged his mercenary close.

"We've only got a week before we're all sent back where we came from." He thought aloud. "Just one week." _It's not enough. "_Will you come to Altea when it's over?"

Ike understood. Marth couldn't leave his kingdom to go travelling with a mercenary. It was disappointing to remember that this tournament wasn't how they really lived, that they had their own lands and responsibilities to go back to.

"I'll come." He promised. "I'll be sent back to Crimea, but I'll start travelling as soon as possible. It's a three-week journey." He held the prince closer at the thought of separation.

"Thank you," Marth mumbled. He knew that Ike was being overly optimistic with his planning, but it was some comfort.

"Right then," Ike suddenly announced. "Not too much brooding on the future tonight. You've just won your tournament, Princess. What're you going to do to celebrate?"

Marth froze and stepped back. He looked warily up at the merc. "You have a cunning plan, don't you?"

"Cunning has so many negative con- conno- such a negative subtext." Stupid Prince and his fancy language.

"And we all know how skilled you are at spotting the conno_tations _of a conversation." Marth snorted. "I'm going to regret agreeing to this, aren't I?" He asked.

"But you _are_ going to agree with me." Ike countered. After all, they both knew it was true.

"So, Ike," Marth held his trophy in one hand, and his other he placed on his hip. "What am I going to do to celebrate?"

Ike just smiled. The sight was too cute.

-*-


	9. Final Confession

Ah, for final chapters. Sorry if it's not what you were expecting. It kinda surprised me too, at first.

So I need another disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Fire Emblem (I don't even have any of the games) so anything you recognise ain't mine. Although, given how little I really know about Altea etc there might not be much recognisable- I think I took many, many liberties.

It's not the longest, but it was the nice place to end it. I don't think I'll ever be adding to it again (already there are scenes here that weren't in the original copy, and my muse is just about shot). Also, sorry it took me awhile to update; Thurs was my A-levels, and I've been a bit distracted since then.

Shout out to: TunaSaladSpritzer, Kiyomi Kamida, Diagon the Dialga, PoisonedxHearts, Youko-Yasha, Hyal and Nightflower Doll.

And thanks again to everyone else throughout. I've got a far larger response to this than I ever expected and hoped, and you've always really and truly made my day with the feedback I've gotten.

-*-

Chapter 9: Final Confession

-*-

Marth opened his eyes, and found himself in his bedchamber in his father's castle. Alone. He could have sworn he'd had a human-shaped pillow when he went to sleep.

He was in his bedchamber. Altea. He was home.

Ike! They'd fallen asleep without saying goodbye. Was his mercenary waking up alone in Crimea? Marth shivered. He felt cold, despite the warm summer he'd been sent back to.

It was only three weeks. Ike had promised. Marth sighed, and prepared to find his family and tell them he'd returned.

The week they'd had together hadn't been nearly long enough to prepare him for the lonely weeks to come.

-*-

Ike was cold. He hadn't awoken cold for months now. That had to mean… he bolted upright and found himself in a bedroll, in the back end of nowhere, Crimea.

"You didn't let me say goodbye!" He yelled at the sky, for all the good it did. Then he examined his campsite. It was exactly the same as it had been when he'd left; some magic had preserved it. He sat back slowly, remembering the last week.

It had been nice. Mercenaries typically didn't do _nice_. He'd promised Marth he'd go, but was it worth giving up his life so far? Was the Prince worth the changes?

Ike smiled. As if there was any doubt.

He gathered his belongings and was ready to go within fifteen minutes. He had a journey to make.

-*-

Getting back into the swing of castle life was horrible. Worse so, because Marth was easily distracted from his tasks and only a smirking redhead would hazard to guess the reason.

More often than not, Marth could be found with Roy when he had no official duty to do, talking about the tournament, about Ike, about his trophy (which was proudly displayed in the audience chamber by his father), about Ike, about the months he'd been gone, and sometimes about Roy's childhood, a lot of which had been spent with Ike. Three weeks came and went.

Intellectually, Marth knew the journey from Crimea could take any time upwards from a month. But Ike had promised. Three weeks.

Four and a half weeks after he was sent back, Marth was just clinging on to the right side of sanity. Where was he?

-*-

Two weeks later, it was a much relieved Boy General that received his cousin at the castle's main gate while the Prince was officially tied up (Roy had set the older princess on his friend). He took in the man's bedraggled appearance, and decided that explanations could wait. He led the Ike to his quarters.

"I want you to wash and get yourself sorted. You should be able to find anything you need." He dropped his cousin on the couch. "I'll just go tell Marth you're finally here."

Ike was far too out of it to argue effectively, or even to complain as he fell onto the rather uncomfortable seat. As soon as the door closed, he was gone for the rest of the day.

-*-

Marth ran from his father's throne room, where Roy had taken him aside and said Ike had finally arrived. He ignored the stares of his father and his subjects, leaving Roy to garble some sort of excuse for his actions. He knew the way to his friend's rooms well enough, and opened the door without preamble.

He stopped short when he saw the exhausted form on the couch. Ike looked… like he'd just finished a long, hard journey. With a sigh, Marth removed the man's cloak and boots, making him more comfortable before perching on the edge of the couch. He'd wait for him to recover before saying hallo.

-*-

Having finally escaped the king's clutches (none too easily, either), Roy walked slowly back to his quarters, unsure of what he would find. He tried to listen at the door, but heard nothing, and assumed it was safe to enter. What he saw brought a smile to his face: Ike was completely out for the count and Marth had fallen asleep beside him.

-*-

Marth woke up slowly, feeling more rested than he had for awhile. He felt his pillow move, and jumped up in surprise, trying to see who was on the bed with him.

It was not the smartest thing he'd done, considering that the bed was in fact a couch, and the action caused him to fall off of it. He sprawled out on the floor, banging his head, and heard Ike laughing at him.

"Head hurting much, princess?" he asked.

---

_The morning after. It was never pleasant, but Ike seemed to try everything in his not inconsiderable power to make it downright painful._

_Marth racked his shaky memories. He remembered the previous afternoon's celebrations, being given the trophy. He remembered the first party, in the mansion itself, with his friends and former opponents._

_He somewhat fuzzily remembered the first alehouse after that._

_The second was harder still to recall, but he remembered dancing... and tables... and immediately wished he had not._

_The third? Third? Was Ike _trying_ to kill him? He remembered even Ike starting to slur his words, and remembered them getting thrown out. Twice, after they'd snuck back in once._

_He decided not to remember anything else. He'd only regret it._

_Marth shifted on the bed, trying to tell if Ike was awake yet. But of course he was. The mercenary would hate to miss his embarrassment._

_"Head hurting, Princess?" Ike asked, grinning._

---

Marth scowled; already back into the familiar rhythm, before it clicked. Ike was here. Ike had come to Altea. He was there, right in front of him!

The mercenary held out a hand to help Marth up. The prince took it and refused to let go. He grabbed at Ike and embraced him, and Ike returned the gesture immediately. Minutes later, a low cough distracted them enough to look away from each other and see the third person in the room. Roy was standing at the entrance to his bedchamber, looking amused. Ike attempted to look unfazed, and Roy raised an eyebrow.

"Don't say it." Ike said.

The other eyebrow rose to meet its fellow.

"Don't say it, please?" Ike tried again.

"I could just order him not to say whatever it is you don't want him to say," Marth cut in.

"He'd take that as a challenge," Ike said drily, proved right when Roy smirked. "He'd work out a way to get around the order and say it anyway."

"As cute as that was to come home to," Roy began. Ike had gone red, muttering, 'Told him not to say it,' "Would you please in future take this to your own rooms?"

"Excellent idea, Roy." Marth spoke up before Ike could start an argument. Getting to his feet, he dragged Ike along with him, showing the mercenary the way to his own rooms.

Roy's laughter followed them down the corridor.

-*-

"This is going to be bad," Ike whispered, bending down so only his prince would hear him.

"Stop that!" Marth hissed, batting at his ear. "It tickles!"

Ike blinked, and looked at the prince in surprise. "I didn't know you were ticklish," he admitted.

Marth frowned. "It isn't really something I wanted _you_ to find out." He turned to the mercenary. "Stop distracting me!"

"But I really, _really _don't want to do this." Ike whined.

"It had to happen at some point. You couldn't hide in my rooms forever, my sister's getting unbearable about it."

"But this is like- it's like meeting royalty!"

Marth sniggered, and didn't deign _that_ with a response.

"Damn it, that's not fair! I can't even come up with a bad enough example, since your father happens to be a king as well."

"I'm sure it will be fine. Just don't speak unless requested to. Actually," Marth mused, "It might be better if you let me do the talking. So that just leaves actions." He frowned again.

"See what I mean?" Ike said.

"There's an escape route behind the tapestry over there," Marth muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "If we're quick, the guards can't stop us."

They almost made it, when the door was thrown open and a smirking Elice entered. "Not trying to escape, are we boys?"

"So close," Marth muttered. He faced his sister. "Of course not. Ike professed an interest in the tapestries."

"Oh, yes." Ike struggled to back up the prince's story. "I like the um, battle scenes particularly." Beside him, Marth dropped his face into his hand. Elice grinned, and with a bad feeling Ike turned to see what was actually hanging on the wall. "The peaceful lake and forest thing is also pretty," he added with a straight face.

"I like him, brother," she laughed. "Now let's go introduce him to father, shall we?"

-*-

"So what are you going to do?" Marth asked. After the awkward introductions to his family, Ike had all but been accepted into the castle life.

"Your father mentioned an idea," Ike said. At Marth's look of inquiry, he continued. "Royal bodyguard. I have the skills, after all, and your sister isn't happy with her current man."

The idea, which had seemed okay with the first two words, became distasteful to Marth by the end of the sentence. "My sister goes through guards like nobody's business. She's never happy. I need to see…" he had half risen from where they were curled up together before Ike tugged him back down.

"I'm joking," he laughed, and Marth tried to be annoyed. Alas, it didn't work. "As if I'd put the work into guarding a royal, present company excluded."

"So you're to become _my_ bodyguard?" Marth asked. He attempted to lessen the possessive tone in his voice, but by Ike's smirk, he had failed miserably. "Shut it," he warned.

"Tsk, tsk, Princess. I've been a very bad influence," Ike stated blandly. "Where have all those polished manners gone?"

Marth snuggled into Ike's form. It was hard to get worked up again, when they were so comfortable. "Probably to that same place where my assumptions were blasted to, after I got to know you."

It was almost too easy to fall asleep, as evening turned into night. Just as Marth was about to nod off, he heard Ike whisper something quietly; he almost didn't catch it. It did make him wide awake again, though.

"What?" He asked shakily. "What did you say?"

Ike looked surprised; he'd thought the prince was genuinely asleep. But there was no getting out of it, and he'd said it once. He could say it again. It was much harder with the object of his affections staring at him, however. Very much harder.

"I..." His throat tightened. "I..." Enough of this. He wouldn't stutter like a girl. "I love you." He spoke softly, in keeping with the nature of the confession.

A brilliant smile lit up Marth's face. "I love you too," he replied, voice sure and equally quiet. He shuffled closer, if possible, and pressed his lips gently to Ike's in confirmation. Pulling away, he was content to see Ike still looked completely certain.

It was all that needed to be said. They smiled at each other, and curled up together in front of the fire.

-*-


End file.
